The Clandestine
by Redtail53
Summary: The Tenth Doctor and Donna investigate a string of mysterious disappearances. Things only get complicated when the Ninth Doctor and Rose appear. Together with Jack Harkness' help, they struggle to uncover the purpose behind the disappearances. But who is The Clandestine, and what is his role in all this? Rated T to be safe. DW/TW X-over. Re-written Prologue: 4/29/13.


**A/N**: Goodness, 2008 is long gone eh? Truth be told, I hit a solid wall with this story. I've finally managed to break it down thanks to a Netflix Doctor Who marathon.

But I digress; I've begun reworking this story in the mists of working on Secrets, Raptor's Bane, and OHFA. I've redone this chapter as a way to kick start the story and get ideas flowing again. Listening to awesome music helps as well. I'm being forced to do this all from scratch besides what was already on FF. I started this story almost 5 years and at LEAST two computers ago – thus 99.5 percent of all my hard work is gone.

This chapter is basically the same as it was since I first posted it; I've just lengthened it considerably, some 500 words to 1,321.

Also. Time Lord names suuuuck.

**New Characters**:  
Rodeshalixalforaxycal "Rodesh" _[row-desh-al-ex-al-for-AX-ee-all]_  
Xaledefion "Xal" _[zal-DEFF-e-on]_

**PROLOGUE**

_Gallifrey_

Thunder rolled through the red evening sky, the precursor of a distant storm making its way through the mountains of Solace and Solitude. Lightening illuminated the dark ominous clouds and the mountain range, threatening the world below with promises of heavy rain. Gallifrey was a fertile world, but heavy rain like what was to come was uncommon. Rodeshalixalforaxycal was well aware of what other promises this storm brought: death and destruction on a massive scale. The aging Time Lord knew that this was no typical storm, he could feel it in his bones, in the very depth of his soul – he could sense the darkness that would soon fully envelop Gallifrey and her people, forcing them into endless war.

Whispers flooded the Citadel each day, whispers of a Time War and dark enemy coming down on them. The Time Lord High Council was weary of these rumors, hoping that they were false and unfounded…

…but knowing in their hearts conflict was imminent.

The question that haunted them was who would dare attack the Time Lords, let alone Gallifrey – the center of Time Lord society. In recent centuries their enemies had fallen silent, and all those who had attacked Gallifrey before had all been beaten back quickly and effectively. Surely they knew it would be the same again, and again, and again. Gallifrey and her people could hold their own.

Rodesh sighed to himself, letting his rigid and regal posture slip a tiny bit. Time Lords were nothing if not a proud race, and he had a feeling that pride would be a deciding factor in defeat or victory. As he watched the world below as the storm raged and grew closer, as the suns fell and night took over fully, as the Time Lords retired as their personal sleep cycles demanded, Rodesh realized that one day he might live to see the end of this world.

A peculiar sensation ran the length of his spine, and forced him to suppress a shudder of fear and sense of dread. For the first time in his long lifecycle, he feared the future. He found himself pitying the Oracles of their people, those who had a connection to Time so strong they could see the future. What must they see? Could they see this dark future, or a way to prevent it – but they wouldn't. The futures they saw were certain futures, bound to happen no matter what was done to prevent it.

Coming from a house that had spawned many powerful Oracles in the past, Rodesh had the ability to see flashes of what was to come about. But he was not bound by the oaths of the Time Lord Oracles. He had followed the Laws of Time all his life, now as a dark and powerful foe threatened his world and his people, he could not stand by idly.

He'd never fancied himself a Renegade, but the High Council wouldn't see this endeavor as anything but the actions of such. The punishment would be much harsher for himself than the young Time Lord who had no real idea of what he'd gotten himself into. Should the Council discover the plot, Rodesh would protect young Xaledefion to the best of his ability; even wipe his memory if it came to that. Though, if they failed, Rodesh felt it would all be for naught anyway.

"Rodesh!" The old Time Lord sighed long-sufferingly and straitened his posture, something a bit more dignified in the presence of an underling.  
"Xaledefion," He stated, turning the face the younger Gallifreyian. "Did you find anything?"  
He looked down at the device in his hand, a silver thing that fit perfectly n his palm, a screen with data illuminated his chest and face, "I think so. There's a faint power reading near-by, but there's nothing but rock and… dust." He finished distastefully.  
"Xal, I know that you are used to the easy life within the Citadel, but please try to contain your excitement at this new and wonderful experience of—"  
"Crawling around in the dirt?"  
"Yes," Rodesh answered as he turned to watch the storm again. Xal came to stand next to him, "What are we looking for, Rodesh?"  
"All in good time," The older Time Lord turned toward the cave that Xal had exited moments ago. "The storm will be here soon. We should make camp here."  
"Camp…? Here?"

Rodesh turned at Xal's uncertainty, "Yes here. If we try to hike down to the transmat station, we'll be caught in the storm for sure and loose precious time for the search." He continued into the cave, "Plus, the last thing you want is to be caught in a Time Storm." Xal followed quickly as thunder roared, sharp and loud, and Rodesh fought to suppress his amusement at the younger's expense. "What," Xal cleared his throat in an effort to save a shred of his pride. He walked to Rodesh, who was setting up a lantern in the center of the cave, "What's a 'Time Storm?'"

Rodesh paused as the warm artificial light flooded the cave, "A sign of things to come," he stated seriously, and continued to set up camp. Xal watched a moment before turning toward the mouth of the cave to watch the storm.

Rodesh was right; it would be foolish to get caught in that storm. All his senses told him it was dangerous, to run, to hide and never come out. _'A sign of things to come.'_ His words echoed in Xal's mind.

"Curious," he said quietly to himself, unheard by Rodesh as he put out a bed roll for himself.

_Sometime later on Earth…_

Today was her day off, the first day off she'd had in years. Her fat-cat boss owed her that much after all the work she'd put in all these years of service. Her job wasn't even that important or difficult, but it made the rent and put food on her little table, even if it was just chips. Sometimes she'd be lucky enough to be able to add some fish, and have proper fish and chips… but those moments were few and far between. With the little she made, she wasn't able to call a Taxi, granted, she lived no further than a mile from the plant. For all the good the job did her, she was certainly fit from walking to and from work.

Reaching the door to her tiny flat, she fumbled with the key and dropped it once from the biting cold of the winter air. She moved to pick it up when a strange noise caught her attention. She froze, and looked 'round the empty lot, scanning carefully for any possible threat. She mindlessly reached a hand into her purse for a can of pepper-spray as a feeling of unease spread through her body, and her heart thumped in her chest. She jumped a bit as she heard thunder roll, long and ominous. She relaxed, thunder couldn't hurt you. It was just a sound.

The noise from before came again, and she tensed. A few trash bins scattered and a stray cat yowled and ran across the lot. She relaxed, confident that the threat was imagined. Grabbing the dropped key off the ground, she put it in the lock and just before she turned it, felt the urge to look up.

She screamed.

3000 year later, deep in the Welsh Countryside, a young girl lost and cold wandered in the mist blanketing the ground. Calling out, her voice pleading for anyone to answer; and once, just once she heard a voice answer her softly, full of sorrow and laced with regret: _I'm sorry_. She looked up to see a figure in the mist, black and shaded, with an air mystery surrounding it, but before she could call out to it, or move towards it – the mist had hidden it, and the figure was gone.

**TBC**


End file.
